


Performance Anxiety, or, The Perfect Duet

by Sharpiefan



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, aubreyad
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:44:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharpiefan/pseuds/Sharpiefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe there really is such a thing as performance anxiety after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Performance Anxiety, or, The Perfect Duet

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://perfect-duet.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://perfect-duet.dreamwidth.org/)**perfect_duet** 's 2011 Advent Calendar.
> 
> I do not own Jack or Stephen, and nor do I make any profit from writing about them.

"What it is, see,"Stephen was trying to explain, "is that I am not used to playing in front of anyone other than yourself. Well, and Sophie and Diana, on occasion, naturally."  
  
"It ain't like there's any privacy on board of _Surprise_ you know, Stephen."  
  
"Maybe not, but performing in the cabin on _Surprise_ isn't like performing in front of an audience of people who are more accomplished musicians than myself."  
  
"It is a Christmas concert, Stephen. They ain't going to expect a... a... virtuous performance when they know it's only amateurs playing."  
  
"Virtuoso, Jack, for all love." Stephen flexed his fingers doubtfully.  
  
"You've got performance anxiety, Stephen. I would never have believed it of you!"  
  
"There's no such thing, Jack," Stephen snapped back "But if you're sure we ought to..."  
  
"Of course I'm sure," Jack cried. "Besides, it's the Admiral's party, it's expected that everyone brings something to entertain the rest."  
  
"I do not understand why you must be so put out by someone with a title and a man-made rank."  
  
Jack stopped, blinked and sighed. "Because it's how things are done in the Navy, Stephen, you must know that?"  
  
"Is that why you insist that the only rope in the vessel is that measly bit of string hanging from the bell, when anyone with half an eye can see that the ship is covered in rope?"  
  
"Cordage ain't rope, Stephen. They've all got names, as well you know. Besides, that ain't true. What about the foot-ropes?"  
  
"What about them?"  
  
Jack was saved from having to reply to this perfectly reasonable question by Killick's disagreeable head peering around the door, shortly followed in by the rest of him. "Which the Doctor ain't got a clean shirt to wear and his jacket's a blee.... a disgrace," he began.  
  
"He can use one of my shirts, if he can keep the cuffs out of the soup," Jack said, ignoring Stephen's put-upon expression. "And sponge off the worst of the stuff on his coat, if you can."  
  
"It ain't a sponge that coat needs, it's burnin'," Killick muttered, letting himself back out of the cabin.  
  
"What if I were to come down with a headache, or the marthambles or...?"  
  
"You're a doctor, and everyone says the best in the Fleet. You can whip off a man's leg as easy as kiss my hand. Nobody's going to believe that you, of all people, have a headache!"  
  
"What about the collywobbles?"  
  
"If you've got a single collywobble, I shall eat my hat."  
  
"You'd best tell Killick whether you want it roasted or boiled, then," Stephen said, determined to be disagreeable.  
  
"You're coming if I have to tell Bonden to press you: I am not playing a solo duet," Jack retorted, frowning as he located his hat. It still bore visible signs of where the wombat had got at it, despite Killick's neatest sewing and his attempts to lessen the injury – there was about half an inch of gold lace missing and despite all efforts, Killick hadn't been able to make the ends meet, or hide the fact that the lace no longer went quite all the way atround it.  
  
"You are an unreasonable, selfish creature, Jack Aubrey!"  
  
"I don't know any solos suitable for a Chrismas party, Stephen. Your 'cello is already at the Admiral's and if you want to get it back, you need to get there to claim it. And as the only boat going across in the next three days is leaving tonight, you need to be in it."  
  
Stephen subsided, muttering darkly.  
  


~ ~ ~

  
  
They arrived at the Admiral's in good time. The candles were lit, shedding soft golden light that made the gold of the officer's uniforms sparkle and the soft silks of the ladies' dresses gleam. It also did much to hide the deficiencies in Stephen's best coat.  
  
They were among the first to perform their pieces and as they sat to tune up, Stephen reflected that his collywobbles felt far less like bats flapping in his stomach, and his hands were not shaking nearly as badly as he had expected. "Maybe it is the laudanum I took before coming ashore," he reflected privately.  
  
They drew their bows across the strings for the first note of Silent Night and the murmurs from the audience hushed magically. Maybe this really could be their perfect duet, and maybe there really was such a thing as performance anxiety after all.


End file.
